


No Helmet

by hannelore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:32:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannelore/pseuds/hannelore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant Fisher happens upon the motorbike belonging to those mysterious teenagers and is taken for a wonderful ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Helmet

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to the postcard-sized prequel that JR Rowling wrote for charity in June of 2008. Transcription available at http://mmichelle.livejournal.com/150726.html

It had been two nights since they had very nearly cornered the young hoodlums in the alley. Fisher had agreed with Anderson not to tell anyone what had happened: no one would have believed them anyway. As soon as the two boys had bolted (no, flew), there had been a loud crack and the three men had vanished. Only the remains of the broomsticks were any reminder that it had actually happened.

Fisher decided to go down to the alley again, even though he was off duty. He was rounding the corner when saw something that made him gasp: the motorbike. He was certain it was the same one, yet Fisher saw no one about. Fisher crept closer, his breathing loud and raspy in his ears. He couldn't help but admire the motorbike, it was a gorgeous piece of machinery. He had always wanted one when he was younger...

Fisher swallowed hard and touched the leather seat with one hand. The leather felt warm, as if someone had been sitting there just recently. He thought of the one boy, the one who had reminded him of... Martin? Melvin? That boy. Just the bloody type to own a bike like this. Bet he was a little rich snot, undeserving of such a beautiful thing. Fisher realized he was caressing the leather now. He also realized he was hard.

Fisher moved his hand away from the bike quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. Then looking back down the alley, he lifted his leg with some difficulty to swing it over the seat. His trousers were pinching him a bit uncomfortably, but he shifted his bulk until he felt better. His shirt was sticking to his back with sweat. The throbbing in his prick was amazing, he couldn't believe it. His mouth was dry as he raised his trembling hands to rest on the motorbike's grips. Fisher was in love.

With a sudden roar, the bike seemed to come to life underneath him. The gunning of the motor vibrated against the fabric of his trousers. Fisher held on tight as the bike aimed straight for the sky, the cool air pressing against him. He could hardly breathe, they were going so fast. Fisher could swear the seat underneath him was moving, rippling against his arse and underneath his prick. He was going to come...

Fisher was still trembling when the bike touched down to the ground again. When he managed to open his streaming eyes (tears, gratitude, desire), he saw the long-haired teenager. The boy shook his head as he grinned.

"Oh dear," he said to Fisher. "No helmet."


End file.
